


a precedented mark

by charcoalsuns



Series: Daichi Rarepair Week 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9669683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: In which Ennoshita looks toward the sky, wonders where within it he might find himself, and considers what might be found without leaving the ground.(day 2: stars)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This could be a sort-of companion to 'a prepared mind' -- something I wrote from Daichi's point of view as he watches the end of the Wakunan match, about the first time he understands what it feels like to step away -- but neither needs to be read for the other to make sense!

 

 

Chikara has his desk in a corner of his room, pushed against the wall adjacent to his window so that every summer, it takes a certain amount of maneuvering to keep the sunlight out of his eyes. Once the sky grows dark, he keeps the curtains open and his own lights low; through the highest, most precarious branches of the tree beside their house, he can make out the tiniest pinpricks, but only if the night is clear.

On the night of the match against Wakunan – and despite himself, because of himself, Chikara can't help but to think of this day in terms of that – the stars seem more visible than ever.

They are just as distant as always, but they beckon so brightly from their impermanent perches that he might think they were mocking him, if he thought they knew of him at all. He leans harder on his forearms, restless hands hanging over the edge of the windowsill. The quiet outside is cool on his skin.

They are just as distant as always, but Chikara is fine where he stands, shadowed edges of his hair and sleep clothes fading into the dimness of his room; Chikara is fine here, out of sight from all wondering gazes turned upward.

He breathes without thinking about it, as he should be.

He is not fine, as he should be.

Somewhere still in his mind, closer than stars, just as impossible to reach, is a back he had not noted until it was knocked away; a back he was relieved to see return before him, because it meant there was someone to follow again, someone to take the brunt of sunlight for them.

But Daichi is not just _someone_.

Somewhere, still, in his mind, Chikara sees his encouraging, uneven grin, his strength and resilience that had seemed so infallible until he wasn't, his curious vulnerability when he'd stood in front of them again, searching for what to say, as if he were unsure of his place. He hears the touch of pride, unearned it was, when he'd spoken to Chikara afterward. He plays it again, turns it over in his hands like a pen over unmarked paper; wonders if he could really make him proud, one day.

Like words, like the future, those pinpricks are too far to grasp. It is infinitely easier to imagine when the world is dark around him.

 

 

 

 

"Couldn't sleep?" comes his voice, soft as his tread is trying to be, in reflection of the time.

Chikara knows where he is. In reflection of Tokyo's sharp winds, he has a sweatshirt on over his fleece-lined sleep shirt, and a jacket on over his sweatshirt. His legs are complaining a little shakily beneath their single layer, but the cold is a gentle breeze with Daichi standing beside him, just far enough that he cannot feel his probable warmth.

He smiles, the motion coming easier than he'd have thought. "I usually can't. Not right away, anyway. Especially not in a new place."

"Hm," Daichi says, considering a worn crack in the low brick wall between them and the street. The part of Chikara that seeks out a certain sort of thrill wishes he would look at him, instead. "Well," he continues, "I'm sure you know how to handle it. But rest well, right? We need you for tomorrow."

He turns toward Chikara, then, and despite the tired creases around his eyes, there is nothing worn about his particular kind of _no questions asked_. It catches Chikara off guard each time, that acceptance he wields so readily in open palms. _Does he remember?_ runs through his mind like it has since a certain summer day; not being able to know for sure what his teammates thought of him was an enduring effect of his return that he hadn't foreseen.

But that haunt is less desolate now, much less isolating, and Chikara's reply of _Me?_ finds its way through his parted lips in just a small, quiet breath. "Okay," he says at last, understanding anew, a little more solid each time, that his doubts of himself are not theirs, that he is not the only one who can make shapes out of faded shadows. He has nothing to prove, only everything to show.

Daichi's hand rests on his shoulder for a second or two before he turns to go back inside, forgetting, this time, to shuffle his feet quietly through the thin, trembling doors.

The highest and most precarious things here are made of steel, and beyond them, Chikara can see nothing but the vague, featureless night, with no lights save the ones behind uncovered windows, hanging above unknown streets.

Right now, on the eve of the brightest room he'll ever have stepped foot in, he cannot fathom the idea of aiming for it again. Not on his own. Not under his own strength. His name is a misnomer; he has thought this with dim, wry humor for as long as he's tested its accuracy, but at the same time— It is a curious thing, that a steady, grounded presence could come to support and lead a quest into the most unpredictable skies.

Beneath his jacket and sweatshirt and shirt, he is still aware of the brief press against his skin. His hand was even warmer than he thought it'd be.

 

 

 

 

The night is different here, not that Chikara can really tell. As often as he's left off all the lights in his room and leaned just slightly out the window to lift his eyes to the stars, he wouldn't be able to recreate their constellations – not in memory, nor in design, and sometimes, even though he's read otherwise, he wonders anyway if they might shift places, when no one's looking.

It's a little stickier, the sun a little heavier on their backs as they sprint penalties outside, but the swell of cicada calls in every direction from Shinzen's damned hill to the copse of trees beside it is the same chatter as he'd hear back in Miyagi.

They're no quieter now, as expected, with no regard for human customs concerning sleep. Not that Chikara is any better, at the moment.

 _First day: passed_ , he sends, stretching his legs out across the prickly grass. He's still pleasantly filled from dinner, no scuffles had broken out at the tables they'd distributed themselves over, and like today, tomorrow is a series of chances for landing upright.

He doesn't fail, after all.

Even when he can't imagine what he himself looks like from the back; even when he feels the rush of last year's success like a spectre rather than a trophy. It's a huge role to fill – which is why he's writing himself a different one.

 _Nice_ , Daichi replies, and in small gaps between heartbeats, with a presence missed at his side, his foreground, Chikara can't help but to hold his phone a little tighter. _You've got nothing to worry about_.

And Chikara, trust sparking behind his eyelids when he shuts them, knows he is more right than not. There's a pen in his hand. The words might stick too long in his mind, might come out jumbled and unsuccessful on paper, but he's not the only one trying to do someone proud. He's not the only one with something to show.

They've got a good team, this year.

His phone lights up in his hand, blinking him out of contemplation. _Can't sleep?_ reads the screen, and Chikara laughs without making a sound.

 _Going in a bit_ , he types. _Just wanted to check in_.

 _You know you don't have to do that_.

 _I know_. He does. He's set the pen to a different page. _How are you doing? You're awake, too._

In his mind, Daichi has a hand on the back of his neck, somehow surprised at being caught out. _Studying_ , he says, _Have a final tomorrow afternoon_.

 _You've got it_.

In his mind, a quiet, appreciative grin. _Thanks_.

Then: _Are you watching the stars again?_

Chikara doesn't rub at the back of his neck, but he feels the same kind of openness, the soft thrill of being seen. _Yeah_ , he says. _Thinking about how they're supposed to be different from the ones in Miyagi_.

 _They don't have to be_ , Daichi says. _If you don't know what they are, they can be whatever you make of them_.

He is, again, more right than not. Maybe. Fondness tugs at a corner of Chikara's mouth. _And if I hadn't already known you're not studying astronomy_ … For that matter, he'd known it wasn't language, either, but Daichi, like anyone else, has his moments.

 _Hey. I'm completely serious_.

The feeling tugs a little harder. _Can you see the stars where you are?_

A pause, like Daichi's gotten up from his desk and walked outside, just to find out. He most likely has; being himself, he probably wouldn't have done so beforehand. _No_ , he answers. _But I know they're there._

Chikara breathes, content, knowing the moment will pass, knowing he can make the next ones, too. He starts to type out a reply as warmth settles around him like a palmful of summer sky, but another message comes in, not quite a step ahead:

 _And I know they're yours_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Daichi and Ennoshita becoming more and more like equals is a progression very dear to my heart ;-;
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
